


Kismet

by thomasjeffersonsmacaroni



Series: The Other 51 [25]
Category: Town of Salem (Video Game)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-25
Updated: 2017-02-25
Packaged: 2018-09-26 17:53:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9914159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thomasjeffersonsmacaroni/pseuds/thomasjeffersonsmacaroni
Summary: The second night, when the full moon glowed into the windows of the little town, was when they first met.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I was at a loss as to what to name this for a fairly long time, but then in English, we were doing vocabulary, and one of our words was "kismet," and we learned that it was one of my teacher's favorites. So this is for you, Ms. Winslow. I love you.  
> This was inspired by two recent games I played.

The second night, when the full moon glowed into the windows of the little town, was when they first met.

"What's your role in this mess?"

A whisper through the window.

"Bodyguard. I'll be glad to protect you the next night if you want."

A whisper back.

"Thank you."

Their first words to each other were not declarations of love. But then again, first words almost never are.

"So, who are you, anyway?" the jailed asked, leaning against the door and spinning the cloth of her dress so tightly around her finger that it turned red.

"I'm the Jailor, of course. Step away from the door, please, I'm putting soup through the little opening on the bottom."

The jailed watched gloved hands, shaking slightly, deliver a bowl and a spoon. She smiled gratefully, as she tended to do when she had been treated kindly, but then she realized that the Jailor wouldn't see that.

"Thank you. And I meant your name, not your role."

"I know what you meant. But Bodyguard is a common claim for the Arsonist, and I'm pretty sure there is one, because the Vigilante said she was doused, and I'd rather not die, thank you very much."

"But if I don't know who you are, how can I guard you?"

The Jailor hesitated before speaking. "Don't guard me, then, or wait until there's enough of a town majority for me to reveal. Okay?"

"Okay. I'd do the same in your situation, probably. There are lots of dumb players, and I don't want to be one."

The Jailor laughed. "One time I had a person claim jailor to _me._ Wasn't even joking."

"What was his real role?"

"Fucking _Blackmailer._ I was laughing hysterically the next morning when the dead were revealed."

The jailed laughed, and so did the Jailor, and the melodic sound echoed across the cell and the halls.

"Good night," the jailed said eventually, yawning and retreating back to her bed.

"Good night. Sleep well."

Gentle footsteps walked away, until there was no sound but the jailed's tired breathing.

But she was not asleep. The Godfather was staring up at the ceiling, plotting, thinking about the mafia's next move.

 

The games had doomed them from the start, and they doomed them through the end.

No mafia kills had happened; the Mafioso was dead, and only the Godfather performed the mafia's killings. So she found herself in the prison cell once more, leaning against the door, looking up at the sky through a hole in the ceiling.

"Please don't hate me," the Jailor said. "But there were no mafia kills, so I'm going to keep you here for another night just to make sure you're not a mafioso. All right?"

"Gotcha. No hard feelings."

He had such a beautiful voice. The Godfather thought about what she could say to keep him talking, just so she could hear it again and again and again.

"How was your day today?"

But it was a small-talk question, something that she would ask a dear acquaintance at home. And they were on opposing sides. It wasn't the time for small-talk.

"It was pretty good," the Jailor said anyway. "Uneventful, but good."

"Uneventful? We lynched the Consigliere! That's pretty good, isn't it?"

It wasn't good. Now it was just the Godfather and her Forger, when the mafia needed more powerful roles, like a Blackmailer or a Janitor. But to the town, it was a victory, and it was a step towards the utter obliteration of the mafia in its entirety.

The Godfather wished she could be part of the town now, for more reasons than just one.

"It _is_ good," the Jailor said. "But we've been getting evil roles non-stop. That's why I said 'uneventful.'"

"Ah. Gotcha."

"I'm cooking dinner soon, by the way. Any requests?"

"I like rice and beans. Do you have that?"

"Ooh, yes. I'll be away now. The door is locked, so don't try to escape."

Somehow, the Godfather didn't want to. She didn't know why. As the Jailor stood up to walk away, and she cried out for him to stay a little longer, she concluded that she was going insane.

"Yes?" the Jailor asked through the window.

"Could you eat with me? In my cell? I'm lonely for company."

A hesitation. Wind blew in the distance, rustling the trees, beating against the metal roof of the cell. It seemed as if some force was keeping them apart, was begging the Jailor to say no, perhaps even get his axe and chop her head off, but neither of them realized that anything was going on.

And then, half an hour later, the door opened, and a black-cloaked figure entered, carrying two steaming hot plates on trays. He placed one in front of his companion, and the other on his lap, and then he lifted the cloth of his mask just a little bit and began to eat.

The Godfather should have been analyzing his behavior, matching it up with people in the town, but for some reason, she felt no inclination to do any such thing. She was hungry, and tired, and the Jailor was here in the room with her, and she wanted to do nothing but to enjoy the - actually very good - rice and beans that he had made.

"You're a good cook," she told him.

"Thank you. It's actually one of the reasons I chose the Jailor role for these games. So I can treat my prisoners with kindness, and then, if I need to, kill them."

A shudder passed through the Godfather's mind, but her body was still and silent except for the repetitive motion of putting food in her mouth.

"I hope I won't have to kill you, though," the Jailor said with a smile, putting his fork down. "You're nice. I like you. And...I always want to approach you, to talk to you, but I'm always so shy. I'm a shy person, actually. And you're...you."

The Godfather looked at him quizzically. "What do you mean, I'm me? Of course I'm me. Just like you're you. Not really a shocking concept."

"I've never been good with words. I'm sorry. What I'm trying to say is, you're unique. And I love you. And I want to talk to you, I want to get to know you, but I'm just me. And I feel like you're ten times better than me in every way."

A pang started inside the Godfather's chest, spreading through her body. So he loved her, just as she - she was realizing it now, and the realization hurt her even more - loved him. But their love had been doomed from the start, doomed by the moon and the sun and the sky and the games, and the very thought that one of them would have to die made the Godfather want to make it herself.

_I'm not a Bodyguard. I'm the Godfather._

The words were so easy to say. But they were also impossible.

The Godfather leaned forward, lifted the Jailor's mask off completely, and kissed him without a second thought.

He did not seem at all shocked that his identity was now revealed. He was Number Two, but that thought drifted from the Godfather's mind almost immediately as she surrendered to his touch, to his hands running through her hair as he allowed her to fall on him, to the patterns that his lips traced on her own, patterns of bliss and joy and a promise that things would be okay, and to the scent of him that she breathed in, hoping that this moment would last forever.

But it wouldn't. And her own lips traced a story of despair and a tragic romance, but he did not seem to notice. Neither of them cared about anything else in that moment.

"I love you," he whispered when they at last broke apart, and when his arms were wrapped around her from behind and he kissed her in the point between the neck and the collarbone.

"I love you, too," she whispered. And the words felt like hot cocoa dripping down her throat, but her stomach felt as if the cocoa was poisoned.

 

The next morning, the Sheriff announced that he had found the Forger to be a member of the mafia. She was lynched instantly, and the Godfather was helpless to stop it, otherwise she would be exposed herself, or at least be under heavy suspicion. And so the vengeful Forger, as the noose slipped around her neck, made a loud proclamation that shook the town from bottom to top.

"Number Six is the Godfather."

Number Six wrapped her arms around her body and shivered. So now was when she died. And the easiest, most convenient way to kill her would be by the Jailor.

And so she was hauled off once more, and this time, the Jailor sat in the cell with an arm around her shoulders and an axe in his other hand.

"So I'm assuming she was right?" he whispered into her ear. "There would be no benefit to her for lying."

"Yes, but if someone else was the Godfather, there would be a benefit to them. By framing me. You know?"

"No. I _don't_ know. Because there were no mafia kills again."

The Jailor slipped his mask off and wiped his eyes with it, throwing it onto the ground into the soot and ashes and stomping on it.

"So tell me, dear. Did you _purposely_ kiss me to break my heart like this?"

"No. I...I genuinely loved you. I thought that maybe together, we could defy the games. Maybe..."

The Jailor stood up and leaned on his axe for support. "No one defies the games, love. That's not how it works."

"I wasn't thinking. But please believe me when I tell you that I love you. _Please._ If you're going to take my life, at least give me that."

The Jailor was silent. There was no sound but the dragging of the execution block into the middle of the cell. When it finally arrived, the Godfather placed her head on it without protesting. There was no point in doing anything at this point.

No one would save her. _Nothing_ would save her. It was just her and her lover and her enemy and the pressing of the air in the little room.

But as the axe came down, as the Godfather squeezed her eyes shut and felt tears escape her eyes and leak into her open mouth, she heard a voice above her. It was the last voice that she heard.

"I believed you."

A crash, and then a spurt of blood. And then, everything was over.

The Jailor stood and watched the body fall. Then, without saying anything else, he scooped it up, along with the head, and moved it to the graveyard.

**Author's Note:**

> I know this trope is, like, the most common in this fandom, but it's a really good trope, and I wanted to try my hand at it.


End file.
